Chance
by oasisdreamer
Summary: "The CIA is giving you the opportunity to live a normal life. You boys are going to high school." Zach and the boys go to Roseville to experience high school for the first time. Cammie is a normal girl with special abilities who resents Zach for his charming ways and for their differences. But little does she know, that Cameron Morgan has more in common with Zach than she expects.
1. Chapter 1

_**Chapter 1**_

It hurt.

The pain: that's the first thing that hits me as I fall backwards.

The sounds: the familiar rattle tattle of machine gunfire reverberating through the earth.

Red: bright and warm seeping through my clothes, staining my skin.

The light: the harsh white of flashlights illuminating the night sky.

The pain: the bullet that has ruptured my skin, punching a hole in my body.

My brain clouds over with a sweet white fog as I desperately cling onto consciousness. The pain was overwhelming; it was so hard to bear.

"Zach!"

A male voice shouts to the left, twisting a familiar pang of desperation in my heart. I turn my head to the side, my hands fisting in the earth beneath me in pain as I strain my neck to look at the man. Figures swim in my vision, but I can make him out, running to me wildly. His helmet was off, his Kevlar was bullet ridden and ripped; yet he was still running at me amid the gunfire. I can see his bright blue eyes through the darkness of the night. They were locked onto me. He stoops down to me, grabbing my hand in his warm one, clenching through his teeth as pulls back my clothes to reveal the wound. The warmth from him radiates through me bringing slight relief to my cold body.

"Stay with me, please Zach, stay with me," he says agonisingly, he looks so sad and angry, his eyes welling up with tears. I look at him fondly, of all the years I known him for, Grant Morgan never cried once. I try to speak to him, to tell him everything will be all right, but the pain is too much, and my body isn't obeying my brain anymore. The need and want for sleep washes over me, my eyes drooping with every breath I take. Maybe all this pain would go away if I just close my eyes, just for a while. I just want to sleep, for this all to end. The shouts from Grant fade into the distance and the darkness beckons to me, welcoming me with open arms. Maybe this is what it feels like to die.

My name is Zach Goode. I am a CIA agent, 17 years old, living in Arlington, Virginia. Last week, I was shot in the stomach on a successful mission in Cuba and now I am recovering at home with my parents. We aren't a normal family, far from it. My parents are famous CIA agents, who have saved the country on many numerous occasions: Joe and Catherine Goode. I have three siblings, an older brother and sister, and a younger brother, all who are either agents for the CIA or who are training to be. Since I was born, I have been subjected to the spy life, surrounded by the promise of protection and the importance of secrecy. I adore it. So, at the age of 10, I was recruited into the training system and started my dream life. I love the thrill of the adventure, the feeling of adrenaline pumping through your veins at 100mph, the triumph at outsmarting the enemy, and the satisfaction of saving lives. But this, this was the worst part of being a spy: the recovery part. I hate the waiting, the sitting around doing nothing, the loneliness and the unbearable want to do something. I have been off duty for a total of two weeks now, and it is killing me to know that I still have another week to go.

* * *

><p>A beer can flies in from my right, my trained reflexes allowing me to catch it easily. "Thanks," I mutter, looking up to Callum, my older brother. He had just come home from a mission in North Korea and is on leave for a week.<p>

"Ugh, you are so depressing to be around now Zach," he grumbles, sitting now on the kitchen barstool next to me, popping open a can of beer next to me, "you have free time! You can be a normal teenager for three weeks and yet you just sit around doing nothing all day, its pathetic."

I throw my hands up in the air exasperatedly and gesture to my bare chest, my finger pointing to my gauze covered side. "Cal, I have just been shot! I can do nothing, I can barely put a top on and you expect me to be all happy smiles and laughing! I am a spy, it is in my nature to keep busy, not to sit around all day, watch TV and drink beer like you!"

Callum just looks at me angrily, his green eyes glinting accusingly in the light. I sigh, dropping my head into my hands. I know he has had his fair share of injuries and recovery time, and right now I know am just being selfish, but this whole thing just pisses me off so much. "I'm sorry," my voice sounds muffled. I look back up at him, and smile slightly, "I just hate doing nothing." Cal's expression turns from angry to one of understanding. I watch as he stands up and ruffles my hair, making it now look more like a bird's nest.

"Don't worry little bro, you'll be back in the field in no time." He walks out of the kitchen, beer in hand humming away to some random song I haven't heard before. I sigh loudly, and start to open my beer, "yeah, I hope so."

The pain in my side has now subsided into a dull ache, but the dressings still need to be changed daily. I slowly pull the gauze away from my body, revealing inch by inch the red skin underneath. I look at myself in the bathroom mirror and assess the wound tilting my head to the side in thought. It looks like a large cigarette burn on my skin, the area around it still red and angry looking. I have had my fair share of gun wounds, but most of them have been mainly flesh wounds, nothing as severe as this. The doctors said that if the bullet entry wound was 5mm lower, it would have ruptured my vital organs and caused all sorts of problems probably resulting in either death or a life filled with rehabilitation and therapy. Either scenario would have left me unable to be a spy, which is just a depressing thought. My skin looks pasty yet slightly tan from my time in Cuba. My eyes look bloodshot and I have purple bags under my eyes. I look a sight.

"Yo Z!" Cal's voice enters from the doorway. I turn around and suddenly a Nerf bullet hits me straight in the chest, falling to the ground. I groan in annoyance, but also in anticipation for revenge as I look at Cal whose face is twisted into an evil, smug smirk. I take a menacing step forward, the promise of a Nerf gun war sending the welcome adrenaline thrumming through my veins.

He waves the large plastic gun in the air temptingly, "so," he drawls, "you up for it bro? Little Nerf gun battle to spice up your life? I promise I will go easy on you, considering you got shot by a real bullet… " Cal rambles on in an attempt to distract me as I see him subtly reload the gun. I stop advancing and I throw my hands up in mock exasperation a smirk on my face, "will you shut up already?"

As soon as I finish talking, I lunge forward, tackling Cal to the ground, wrestling the gun away from his hands. My side is aching in protest, but I cannot deny the exhilarating feeling of sparring with Cal. Although he is taller and bigger, I manage to pin him down with the force of the tackle, pushing the air out of him as we roll about on the floor. He tries to avoid my side by pushing my chest and shoulders as I desperately cling onto the plastic gun. I can't stop laughing, I haven't had this much fun in a long time, and just messing around with Cal is shooting up my mood, even though I know he is holding out on me. I prise one of my hands away from his grip and move it to his hair, pulling mercilessly on it as Cal emits a groan of pain. "You sly little…" he hisses, but I suddenly feel a hail of Nerf bullets hit my back and I can see that some hit Cal as well. My face twists in confusion, the gun is in Cal's hand, no way could he have shot me in the back and himself.

Wafts of perfume hits my nose and I sigh defeated as I watch Cal's face fall with shame, looking a bit sheepish.

"Boys." I turn my head around to see mum holding a mega Nerf machine gun in her hand, her finger pressed dangerously close to the trigger. "Stop." I roll off Cal so that I lie on the ground; he lets out sigh of relief as I move off him. But that soon stops as another hail of bullets hit him in the chest and legs.

"Ah mum! Hold on, we stopped!" shouts Cal, his hands raised up in surrender as he lifts himself up off the ground. I smile at mum who is trying really hard not to laugh; she is a world-class spy yet she still cannot control her emotions when it comes to dealing with us. Her stormy grey eyes flicker over to me and my smile falters as an evil grin crosses her face. I know what is coming next; it's my turn to get an ass whooping.

"Woah mum, don't get too trigger happy!" I jump up off the floor raising my hands up like Cal in surrender. We grin at each other, mimicking each other's pose whilst mum points a Nerf gun at us like a firing squad; the irony and humour was not lost on me.

"Cal," Mum adopts a stern tone as she stares us down, "Ali is waiting downstairs for you; if you don't move your lazy butt off the landing, I doubt she will stay here any longer." At the mention of Ali, Cal's face lit up. Ali is a number of things depending on whom you ask. According to Cal, she is his best friend, no more. To mum, she is an angel. To dad, she is a saint. To me and the rest of the world, she is Cal's unofficial girlfriend. In my opinion, Cal is just too uptight and proud to have a girlfriend, even though he cares deeply about Ali. He says its because he isn't ready for the commitment, in other words, he doesn't want to drop his playboy ways.

"Score!" Cal grins at me before running down the stairs. "You can deal with mum!" he shouts, right before mum shoots him dead centre on his left butt cheek. He turns around accusingly and to which mum shrugs, "finger slipped, sorry baby." Cal throws his hands up in exasperation as he continues to walk down the stairs muttering to himself under his breath.

"Hi mum," I say cheerfully, hoping not to get shot. "How was the paperwork today?" I ask with a grin, I know how much of a pain post-mission paperwork is from experience. Mum hates it with a passion, as shown in the evil glare she gives me at the mention of it.

"Terrible, horrific, excruciating, I could go on for days explaining the pain. But speaking of the office, the Director wants to see you." My face falls with surprise. The Director? Mum must have noticed my expression, "I know, it surprised me also. I don't know what he wants with you. Are you sure Cuba went to plan and everything was shut down?"

I nod my head, running my memories back to the mission. "Yeah… Yeah definitely, apart from the end fight when everyone got beaten black and blue but everything ran smoothly. We didn't bust our covers until necessary and the extraction worked perfectly." I groan when I face the realization that I need to actually get dressed to go to the Pentagon and make myself presentable. Too much effort needed. "This is bull."

* * *

><p>The Pentagon. It's technically the headquarters of the United States Department of Defense, but the CIA like to stake their own claim at the five-sided building. The DoD do kick up a fuss because technically we do not fall under the DoD and we have our own headquarters in Langley, but who wouldn't want a piece of the Pentagon to themselves? We are the only independent US intelligence agency and we kick more ass than the whole of DoD combined. As you can imagine, there is a whole lot of bad blood between us. As I walk through the blinding white corridors I catch the accusing stares of men and women in black suits. They would all make wonderful slender men with their blank poker faces, the identical black aviators, the black suit and tie, I kind of feel out of place here in my black ripped jeans and white tee. When I said earlier that I needed to make myself presentable, jeans and a t-shirt is somewhat presentable in the CIA. We aren't as uptight as these men in black. The Pentagon is an architectural beauty. I mean seriously, the building is humongous, but it is designed so that it always takes less than five minutes to walk from any one point to another. I walk through the maze of indistinguishable corridors, ignoring the questioning and disapproving looks I receive. My eyes dart to the left, to another corridor, and lock onto a certain hot brunette, leaning almost seductively over a water fountain, her deep blue eyes flickering over to me, smiling enticingly. Her pinstripe suit hugs her curves deliciously, her perfect white teeth gleaming in her million-dollar smile.<p>

"You have the subtlety of a hand grenade." I whip my head around to find Grant approaching, and grin at him guiltily. "You have the look about you like a boy who has had his hand caught in the cookie jar."

I shrug my shoulders, "man, look at her! She's a beauty. Are you telling me you wouldn't even try?"

Let me introduce you to Grant Morgan, my 'brother from another mother', my wingman, my backup, my best friend. I have known Grant for as long as I can remember. I was born exactly three and a half minutes after Grant and we have been tight ever since. His parents are also highly recognised agents in the CIA, Matthew and Rachael Morgan and he's the only kid, which makes me his brother in a way. Grant Morgan is a huge player, he's a bang and dash kinda guy oozing with self-confidence and assurance. And what can I say, I learnt from the best. "I wouldn't touch that with a ten foot barge pole." I stop walking in shock. Never have I ever seen Grant his nose up at a girl looking like this. Grant turns around and grins knowingly, "mate, she is FBI." I groan in frustration. No way is CIA allowed to mix with FBI, its an unspoken rule, no matter how hot the fish in the other pond are.

"How good is your source?" I ask hopefully.

"Impeccable."

"Damn."

"Yep."

"Do you not have any means of telling the time or are you both just downright stupid?" Preston Winters everyone. And the laughing skinny black haired guy to the left of him is Jonas Anderson, probably the cleverest teenager to ever grace these halls. Imagine a typical nerd; add a splash of dork and a brain that could rival Einstein and you will get Jonas. Preston Winters is the complete opposite. He is the son of the American ambassador in England, which gives him his funny accent and his mammoth bank account that comes in handy sometimes when on the run from people trying to kill you. He is what girls would say, 'ruggedly beautiful'. I don't know what the hell that means, but even my sister calls him that and it doesn't help his oversized ego one bit.

"We aren't that late, I'm sure Joe won't even notice," Grant says whilst clapping Jonas on the shoulder.

"Oh, he knows," says a familiar feminine voice. Enter Abby Cameron, the co-director of the CIA alongside Joe Solomon. "And can I just say boys, what a treat he has in store for you!" At the hint of her sarcastic tone my smile falls off my face.

"Aunt Abby, what did we do this time?" implores Grant and even from here I can tell he is worried about Solomon's so called treat. Joe when he is happy with you, can be the best man on the earth, but if you disappoint him or anger him, you are put in the dog house for weeks on end, your days filled with punishment laps, paperwork, coffee making, newbie trainings, the list of pointless jobs continues forever. I swear he has a book filled with these punishments just so he can make them different each time by picking them out by random. It honestly wouldn't surprise me.

"You did nothing wrong Scout don't worry. Just go in, have fun, don't piss him off and you might still have all ten fingers by the end of it." And with that closing statement, Abby Cameron, the famous CIA agent threw us a cheeky wave and ambled down the corridor away from us leaving us dreading what lay behind the mahogany double doors.

In the past sixty years or so, the Director's office hadn't changed at all, and the current sees no reason to break the tradition. A large oak table sits in the middle of the spacious room and in the large chair behind it sits Joe Solomon's imposing person. Though his face presents a hard façade, I could see his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. His fingers are steepled as his gaze wanders across us. We stand in a row, Preston, Grant myself then Jonas, our backs straight and our eyes never making contact with his. Although Joe Solomon is like a father figure to us, no way are we dumb enough to look into his eyes when he is angry. That's just asking for a death sentence politely.

"It has come to my attention that you are coming towards the age of 18. And it has also come to my attention that none of you have really experienced a normal life." I almost snort at the words normal. Of course none of us are normal, we started training to become spies since we were 10. Of course, Jonas and Preston have experienced some semblance of normality coming from a non-spy family, but how can you be classed as normal if you have an iQ larger than Stephan Hawking and if you can count to hundred in seven different languages whilst diffusing a bomb with a pair of tweezers.

"Sir, what do you class as normal?" asks Jonas, the question on everyone's minds.

"Well, you know. You boys haven't experienced the pleasures of high school, the worries of normal teenagers. The biggest worry of a spy is whether or not they will live to see the next day. Whereas, a normal seventeen year old boy would worry about what to wear that day, or whether they will win their football match." To be honest, I prefer my worries. I don't want to deal with high school crap. I've seen it in movies, that's enough exposure to the living nightmare that is school for me.

"Sir, where are you going with this," I ask worriedly, somehow I get the feeling that this is the treat Abby was talking about.

"The CIA is giving you the opportunity to live a normal life. You boys are going to high school."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Welcome! Hi there and thanks for reading. I should be updating weekly, but maybe not for the first few chapters, just so I can get into the swing of things. For my regular readers, don't worry, I will be continuing with <strong>**_New Beginnings_****. But hey, give this one a chance and I would love to hear about what you guys think of it. So review and follow, just press those buttons below and I'll see you the next chapter! x**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2**_

"Cameron Ann Morgan, if you don't get your butt out of bed this instant, I will be forced to take unnecessary painful measures against you!"

I groan and roll onto my side, pull my duvet up and tuck it under my head. It's my favourite method of blocking Jane out; I call it 'the cocoon'. Mornings plus Cammie equals bad. I just don't do mornings, I have an allergic reaction to them where I shut down and become a zombie. And as soon as my plan to dominate the world finally comes into place, I will be able to force schools to start in the afternoon, and for mornings to be a sacred period of time dedicated to rest, recuperation and beauty sleep. Yes, I have thought this through, and yes it is pretty lame, but my morning brain is the part that is disconnected from the rest of the normally functioning brain, therefore I have an excuse.

"Unleash the Dylan".

Ok that's it, I'm getting up, no way am I gonna be subjected to 'the Dylan' at 7:30 in the morning. I leap out of bed in a flourish, just before a little boy bursts through the door, brandishing a plastic sword and wearing an ill-fitting helmet.

"Ahhhh, be afraid!" This is Dylan. My annoying slash sometimes-lovable six-year-old stepbrother. Now would be the best time to say that I'm an orphan, living with my foster parents, who six years ago, in a burst of happiness and joy produced this little kid whose life mission nowadays is to make my life as horrible as possible. And yet I still manage to like him. My name is Cameron, but because its both a boy and girls name, I call myself Cammie, which is way more feminine and fully asserts the fact that I am a girl. My parents died the day after I was born in a car crash where I was the only survivor. After a year of being pinged around several orphanages, I finally found myself at the Smith residence. John and Jane Smith became my parents and they have been for as long as I can remember. I love them; they are all I've ever known. At this precise moment in time, here I am, standing in my bedroom looking incredibly dishevelled, warily watching Dylan hop about on his feet, trying to look intimidating but failing and producing a rather constipated look. I sigh and fall to the floor, covering my face with my hands and start to pretend, because knowing Dylan, if I don't play along with his game, God knows what horrors and pranks I'll be in for.

"Ah!" I shout, cowering in pretend fear, "Knight Dylan! I'm so sorry for my crimes!" I peak from my hands which cover my face to see Dyl smiling down at me in pure joy in our game, the gaps in his teeth showing.

"Bow down monster!" he shouts, waving his sword around again. I kneel down so that my head is at the same height as Dylan's. His eyes twinkle with mirth as he proceeds to knight me by resting his sword on either side of my shoulder. His messy blonde hair is falling in his eyes as he sticks his nose up in the air like a pompous gentleman.

"I knight you Sir Cammie of the realm of Dylanland!" "Why thank you kind knight. I will serve the realm to the best of my abilities." I rise to my feet, and take off Dylan's helmet to ruffle his hair, smiling at my brother. "Morning Dyl," I say as I bend down to kiss the top of his head. "What's Jane got for breakfast?"

"Pancakes, banana for me, choc chip for you!" he says as he runs out of my room, bounding down the stairs two at a time. I swear that boy is one day going to fall down those rickety stairs and break his neck. The prospect of school in the morning hits me like a ton of bricks, but soon the sweet smell of pancakes wafts through the open door, beckoning to me. Throwing on a jumper over my camisole, I run down the stairs like Dylan, not caring whether I could fall and injure myself. And yes, I know I am a hypocrite telling Dyl to not run down the stairs, but he's only six, I'm seventeen. Big difference. All that matters is that Jane is making choc chip pancakes and that there is always a fight between John and I for them. I run into the tiled kitchen, my eyes searching for the gorgeous golden stack of golden pancakes. My eyes land on John sitting at the table, his mouth full of syrupy goodness, his lips pulled up in a smirk as he triumphantly gestures to the pile of pancakes in front of him.

"John!" I exclaim, marching towards him, my fists at my side balled up.

"Morning Cam." He smirks at me, fully aware of the fact he is eating my breakfast right now.

The audacity of that man! I decide to play along, just because I am in a playful mood. I sit on the chair next to him, propping my elbows up on the table next to his plate, resting my face in my hands and stare up at him.

"Morning Johnny, how are you this wonderful morning?"

"Grand, Cammie, just grand," he replies, his blue eyes sparkling in mischief as he looks over his glasses. "Jane sure does make the best pancakes doesn't she?" Bloody hell. I can't take this. I grab the plate suddenly, bringing over to my side of the table, but just as soon as I grab it, John grabs the other side and we start to battle.

"For God's sake, how many bloody children do I have in this house?" Jane arrives, and thank god, otherwise I wouldn't have been able to get any pancakes. John and I smile sheepishly at her, her hands on her hips in a threatening pose, her dark brown eyes locked onto us. She walks up to John and smacks him playfully on the back with a hidden spatula, her smile struggling to keep hidden.

"Ow! Honey!" John exclaims, his hand flying up to his back in shock. I watch the flirtatious actions passing between my foster parents with a smile, whilst eating my pancakes of course. John stands up and starts to kiss Jane on the lips, and when it starts to get heavy I stand up, pushing my chair back making a horrible screechy sound on the tiles. Jane pulls away, her face turning pink, her eyes flickering over to me.

"Uh uh, I thought we established, no kissing whilst I'm eating! I would not like to get put off choc chip pancakes, that just a waste!"

"Sorry hun, won't happen again," Jane says as she starts walks away from John, throwing a cheeky smile from over her shoulder. I start to sit down, but John chose that moment to slap Jane's bottom playfully. I roll my eyes; you'd think I live in a house with two horny teenagers. I stand back up, glaring at John and Jane and grab my plate to eat elsewhere. Much as I love Jane and John, there is only so much PDA I can take this early in the morning.

"You two are like teenagers. Can you please just grow up and act your age! I feel like the bloody parent here. I'll eat upstairs, I'm short for time, and it'll give you some time to yourselves. God knows you need it." John winks at me stealthily and I wink back. "Can't keep their hands off each other," I mutter as I walk out.

"We heard that!" yelled Jane and John in sync. I roll my eyes in response with a huge smile on my face. Jane and John are so young for their age, even though they are getting into their late thirties. I remember their childish nature and behaviour all through my childhood, which helped me a lot; especially dealing with the fact I had lost my parents. They were very young parents, adopting me when Jane was 25, and John was 28. Then after eleven years after taking me under their wing, out popped Dylan, yay! John works as a project manager for an IT banking project; who knows what that means. I tend to avoid the subject, as John could talk about it forever if you even go near the subject. Jane is a journalist and an interpreter, as she can speak seven languages. English of course, French, German, Russian, Korean, Mandarin and Spanish. I don't even know how her brain can handle that many languages, but she's the cleverest person you'll meet. She seems to know everything. She works at hone quite a lot, but she will sometimes go off for trips to other countries to write a story. She makes for an interesting person that's for sure. I love John and Jane, they are stupidly genius, childish, and so hopelessly in love with each other.

* * *

><p>"Do you need a ride?" asks John as he passes me in the hallway. I grab my navy blazer from the coat hook and sling my backpack over my shoulder.<p>

"Nah, I'm gonna walk over to Bex and grab a ride from there."

"Oh right, well say hello to the Baxters from Jane and I, tell them we need to have them over for dinner one time." I nod and smile, turning away and start to open the door.

"Oh Cammie." I turn around and John reaches up to my school tie, fixing it so that it actually looks like a tie. He shakes his head in disbelief, "when are you going to learn to do your tie?"

"When I find a good enough teacher to teach it to me," I retort, smirking at him. He pats my on the shoulder, "have a good day Cookie." I grin at his pet name for me and roll my eyes.

"Bye Pookie" I return. John and I have pet names for each other, ever since I expressed my distaste at the name Cookie. As expected, he didn't stop calling me Cookie, but I always returned calling him Pookie, just to annoy him as well. It's become a tradition of ours, just to remind outsiders that our family is actually properly weird.

* * *

><p>I walk down the street to Bex's house. Bex is my one of my best friends and is British. That piece of information is necessary as it explains everything when it comes to Bex, especially her weird quirks. I knock on the door, and their butler opens it. Yes, they have a butler.<p>

"Hi Frank," I greet the tuxedo-clad man with a smile wave as he ushers me in.

"Good morning Miss Cameron. Rebecca is upstairs in her bedroom, and Mr and Mrs Baxter are in the firing range. I believe they are departing for a mission in a few days." Oh I forgot, Bex's parents are actually agents of MI5, which explains the firing range and the mission. Its no big secret to friends of the family, but to everyone else, the Baxter's are just a family who are incredibly rich and the parents often take long holidays.

"Better not let Bex hear you call her Rebecca, Frank." I say as I walk up the marble staircase, "she'll have you for dinner!"

Frank smiles gently, in the perfect butler manner, "Miss Rebecca can try all she likes, Miss." I laugh and wave him a quick goodbye. I reach the top of the stairs and walk down an elegantly designed corridor. Their corridors are grander than my whole house put together. I finally come to a white door and knock the secret knock. The door opens grandly to reveal a huge room with a girl dressed in uniform staring at me.

"Great! You're here, just give me a minute to grab my things!" giving me a quick one-arm hug, holding a bunch of files in the other arm. I present Rebecca Baxter, but if you are interested in living in the foreseeable future, I suggest calling her Bex. I walk into the room, drop my bag and take a run up, jump, twist in mid air and land on my back on her bed, which is the comfiest thing ever. You just sink straight into it; it's heaven. I pull up my hands up behind my head back and close my eyes. All I hear is Bex's disapproving tut as she lies down beside me. I feel the duvet dip beside me and I turn to look at her, analysing her. I've known Bex for years, which means we kinda have a telepathic link where I know how she is feeling. But it doesn't take a genius to figure out that Bex is sad. She always shuts herself up just before her parents leave for a mission, she gets sick with worry and struggles being alone, knowing that her parents are in a life or death situation constantly.

She looks up at me; her eyes swimming with unshed tears threatening to spill over. "Its an important one Cams. Like really important. Which is like code for dangerous," she whispers. I sit up and wrap her slim figure in a hug, resting my head on her head of curls. I stroke her back, and instantly think of a way she will cheer up, because a sad Bex makes for an unbearable Bex at school. Therefore, we all like her happy. And also, I do love her, so if she's happy, I'm happy. I push her away slightly so I can look at her. Bex only cries in front of me, she is the strongest person I know, but when she breaks, only I can really fix her.

"Wanna make me up for school today? I trail off, having a mini celebration inside of me watching her smile grow on her face. I'm not the kinda girl who wears make up; I'd rather just throw my hair up in a messy ponytail for school. First of all, it saves time, and I need the extra time for sleep in the morning. And second of all, I wouldn't know where to put creams and all the colours on me, so I just don't bother. For years Bex and Macey have begged me to let them put make up on me for school, and time after time I would refuse. But today, just to cheer Bex up, I'm gonna let her, and probably just spend the rest of the day hiding under a hat or something, I seriously hate wearing make up. "Really?" Bex asks, her hands rubbing together gleefully, her mood totally changed. I internally groan, regretting my decision, but smile and nod at her.

"Fantastic! Just sit there and do as I say okay?" She claps her hands together and jumps of the bed, laughing to herself. She comes back to me; holding three make up bags, yes three. God knows what she keeps in there… She pulls out a bottle, and looks at me, tilting her head to the side in thought. She rights her head, smiles and looks at me, "let's do this".

"Oh god."

* * *

><p>I knew it was bloody mistake. Of course Bex would go all out. She even made adjustments to my damn uniform! So here I am, walking into the main entrance of the school, a white woollen beanie pulled low over my blonde waves, hiding my eyes from view so that people won't recognise me. Hopefully. Bex has traded my black school shoes for black heels which right now I'm struggling to walk in, she's shortened the striped tie, shortened the skirt, and swapped my tights for knee high socks. I am going to kill that girl. She's messed up my face, she's added bronzer because apparently I'm too pale, blusher, because I don't have enough colour, mascara and eyeliner because I have light eyes and done my eyebrows because I quote Bex here, 'they are a bit dodgy'. Did I mention that I am going to kill Bex? We walk down the corridor, our heels clicking against the wooden floor, echoing down, announcing our presence. And great, a boy just wolf whistled. Fantastic. I glare at Bex beside me, who's glowing from my transformation.<p>

"You are so dead," I mutter, squeezing her hand with enough pressure to grab her attention.

"Oh I know," she returns gleefully, "it'll be so worth it though." I groan and pull my beanie down lower to look at the floor, which suddenly just became more interesting. I let Bex guide me into our homeroom where I fall into my chair and pull my bag up onto the desk with a thud.

"You're late."

My head snaps up at the foreign voice. Shit, now I'm in trouble. Trust me to be late on the day we get a new teacher. A man in a navy waistcoat stares us down and wow, he sure is intimidating.

"Sorry sir," chimes Bex, "won't happen again!" Why does she always sound so happy?

"Glad to hear that Miss Baxter. But what is your name?" He looks at me expectantly, and I look up to meet his gaze.

"Cammie Morgan sir." I reply. I watch as a flicker of horror flashes through his expression. But just as soon as I see it, it disappears and his poker face comes back out to play. I have no idea what that was about. What's so horrifying about my name?

"Right. Well, as I was about to say when these two girls rudely interrupted me, my name is Mr Solomon; I will be your new chemistry teacher and your form tutor. You have four new students in your form group, Mr Goode, Mr Anderson, Mr Winters and Mr Morgan. Mr Solomon's gaze flits over to me as he says the last name, as if to gauge my reaction. I stare right back at him blankly. I have no idea what his problem is, and to be frank, I don't like the way he is looking at me, like I'm a bomb about to explode. It's incredibly unnerving.

"Well, now the pleasantries have been exchanged, I have to excuse myself, but I trust you will find your way to assembly when the bell goes. Nice meeting you all." And with that, creepy ass Mr Solomon leaves the room. "Oh my god! He's so hot!" I roll my eyes in exasperation; of course Bex would find him hot.

"Of course you would." I scowl at this new person's comment. Only I'm allowed to comment on Bex's irresponsible crushes. I turn around and prepare to rip a new one into this person. But oh my god. Just my luck, newbie here is hot as hell. Not cute, but flaming-please-dunk-me-in-cold-water-type hot. He smirks at me, because here I am gawping like a flipping goldfish.

He leans in and snaps his fingers at me, "earth to Blondie?" I snap out of my reverie and glare at him.

"Oh so you are awake, just making sure you weren't daydreaming about me."

I give a loud fake laugh, "and why would I daydream about you?" He grins cockily at my response. What I would do to wipe that stupid smirk off his face right now…

He gestures to himself, "have you looked at me recently?"

I smile prettily in response, "you need your eyes checked newbie, you're not as good as you think you are."

Again he grins, showing his perfect white teeth. Christ, why isn't there an imperfection on him? Why couldn't just have a chipped tooth or something so I don't feel like a freak show talking to this walking Abercrombie model? He leans forwards and sweeps his hand across my cheek so quickly I could have missed it. He leans even further forward, and right now, I'm frozen, even though he's invading my personal space like a million times over. His face juts out slightly so that his mouth comes near my ear. His breath touches my neck, leaving goose bumps in its wake. "Your blush says otherwise Blondie." He falls back into his chair, and the bell goes, bringing me back down to earth. I turn back in my seat and gather my things as quickly as possible, just to get out of the room so I can mentally gather all my logic and common sense that had been thrown out of the window by that one sexy husky whisper of his. Bloody hell. Who am I? I stand up and walk out of the room, only to trip up on my feet and fall to the ground, my bag spilling out all of its contents. Great, my clumsiness comes into play the minute it will embarrass me. I hear a chuckle next to me, as 'newbie' bends down to help me collect my pens and books. He stands up and offers a hand to me, his face stretched into a wide smile. I glare at the hand; he must have some bloody snag to this plan. No way could 'newbie' by this nice, considering he has just been trying to, and successfully, pissing me off for the whole of the three minutes I have known him. But screw it; I'm on the floor of a classroom. I place my hand in his, and he gently tugs me up to him, careful to not let me fall. We pause as we stand close to each other, his hand still holding mine. And bloody hell, his green eyes are so pretty. Like not gross colour green, but like the beautiful vibrant green of… grass?

Again, a chuckle escapes his lips, "I know I'm gorgeous Blondie, but no need to gape at me like that." Dammit, he just couldn't keep his mouth shut could he and not ruin a nice moment? I rip my hand out of his grasp and scowl at him in frustration because he is still standing in too close a proximity for my own comfort. I mumble a thank you and turn away, walking down the corridor, well more like power walking, he just makes me feel weirdly nervous.

"You know, I never caught your name!" I hear him shout down the corridor, which is now quickly filling up with people.

I grin at myself, shaking my head slightly in amusement as I do what's best, disappear into the crowd.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Second chapter! Thanks for reading. Reviews and PM's appreciated! x**


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter 3**_

Liz's POV

My name is Liz Sutton. 17 years old and abnormally short. I'm pretty normal, nothing really extraordinary. Well, except for my IQ which is 195. That's 34 more than Stephan Hawking and Einstein, and one higher than chess grandmaster Garry Kasparov. But apart from that, I'm normal.

I don't usually break into the school system, I sometimes do it for fun, just because the breaking into the Pentagon repeatedly can be boring and it's good to have a change. I open my beloved laptop and my fingers start to fly furiously over the well-worn keyboard. I watch as I break through numerous firewalls, shattering them in my wake. The school's system is terrible; they have only the basic firewalls to defend their information, firewalls that anyone with half a brain cell and with the instructions could break through in under a minute. 23 seconds later, the laptop screen blinks, filling the black screen with the luminous green numbers that together make up the code I was breaking through. I smile and lean back in my chair, 23 seconds. That's a new record for me. 2 seconds quicker than the last time. I watch as school files pop up onto my screen, hundreds and hundreds of documents showing the details of every single student enrolled at Gallagher. I scan for the document I want: my essay. I made a mistake on the essay I submitted last night, and I because I am OCD with a slight dash of perfectionist, I need to fix it otherwise it will bug me for the rest of the week. It's no big deal; I do this so often I could do it in my sleep.

I bring up my school file and cringe at my student photo; it's pretty terrible. I'm not the most photogenic person on the planet, which sucks especially as that is the photo on my student card, which means quite a few people can see it. I sigh and click on my most recent essay to bring it up. Instead of seeing four pages of typed up writing, all I see is a single box with the word, "REDACTED". Suddenly each pixel falls away from my screen, wiping my essay and my whole school file. "What's going on?" I whisper as I frantically type to try and recapture my file, trying to retain my information. I'm not quick enough. I'm left with a blank laptop screen. "What on earth!" I exclaim. My whole school file just disappeared. Reasons for redaction flash through my brain at rapid speeds; it can't be the school's doing, no way are the technicians at Gallagher are good enough to completely wipe a whole file remotely when it's currently open. Which means that this had to be external. But who would want my school data? I open the school directory to see if anyone's files have disappeared. The names flash by until I see one that's marked in red. Elizabeth Sutton. My breathing increases as other names pop up in red, Macey McHenry. Rebecca Baxter. Cameron Morgan. I lean back on my chair, my back aching from being huddled over a laptop for so long. I rub my forehead and blink, trying to understand what just happened and why files are missing. No one apart from the school is allowed to see them; it's for our own protection. Vulnerability. So this is what it feels like.

* * *

><p>"What do you mean they're gone?" yells Macey as she paces the entire floor length of the girl's bathroom.<p>

"Gone, disappeared, burnt into the atmosphere, they are gone Macey, what else do you want me to say?" I yell back. I don't usually raise my voice; I don't usually lose my temper. But after finding out that all the information on myself has now disappeared into the hands of who knows who has left me quite short tempered and frustrated. I found Macey almost immediately afterwards and dragged her into the nearest toilet. She was unwilling, very reluctant to leave the huddle of high school boys that had gathered around her, adoring her like the new queen. I sit on the counter, bending my head over into the palms of my hands. I tried to break into the code that was blocking my access, but I couldn't. This was the first time I have been beaten, and it was taking its toll of me. These people are good; their firewalls are solid and are nothing like I have seen before.

"So, you can't like magically bring it back by doing that weird hoodoo thing with numbers and your laptop?" I sigh and look back up at Macey who was now staring at me, her hands thrown up into the air in exasperation.

"You mean break the code? I've tried. That was the first thing I did"

"I thought you could break codes!" Macey retorts, almost shouting. I cringe at the thought of others hearing yet this is swept aside by my rising temper.

"Yes Macey, I can. But it's not a piñata, I can't just whack at it with a stick!" I'm shouting now. I never shout.

"Then what can you do huh? What can you do with that super brain of yours? Oh I'm Liz, I'm so clever I can do huge multiplication sums in my head in under a second and can talk in multiple languages, I'm so much cleverer than you." I start to see red. Of course Macey would go about this immaturely, trying to find a way to wind me up like she always does instead of focusing on the problem at hand here. I watch her twirl a strand of hair around her index finger, fanning herself trying to imitate me. I never fan myself I think to myself angrily. I stand there seething, my shoulders tense and my jaw locked. "What are you gonna do Liz? Go on, use that clever brain of yours!" That's it. She is so dead. I lunge forward off the counter towards Macey; hands outstretched, a sneer plastered on my face.

"What the hell is going on?" I stop suddenly in my pursuit and drop my hands to my sides. I peek up to see Cammie standing there horrified at the entrance to the toilet, her eyes darting between Macey and I with a furious glint in my eyes. She walks over to us, standing in between us to keep us apart

"We've been compromised." I roll my eyes at Macey's dramatic statement, she has been watching too many Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Apparently I'm not the only one who thinks this as Cammie lets out a chuckle and looks over to Macey, "not everybody's life is the spy life Mace." She shrugs her shoulder in reply and arches one perfectly manicured eyebrow at her.

"Why don't you ask Liz? It's all her fault anyway." I don't retaliate but raise my eyes up to Cammie to face her questioning gaze.

"I was in the school's account earlier and I saw our files disappearing leaving empty ones. So according to the school and the government, we do not exist anymore. They have been redacted, and someone god knows where has got our information, our identity. Who knows what they can do with that information? I have secrets, Macey has secrets, and Bex is the daughter of two agents of MI5 for God's sake." My voice drops. "We're vulnerable."

Zach's POV

"Couldn't leave that poor girl alone could you Z?" I turn my head around to face Grant grinning. "She looked really flustered, what was that Joe said to us? Try to make friends?"

"Nah, I don't think she was as flustered as you think."

Grant looks incredulously at me, "yeah whatever mate. It's not like she half sprinted down the corridor to get away from you."

"What's this? A girl who has resisted Zach's charms? Who is this? I wanna kiss her." I look to my left and see Preston walking beside us his bright smile mocking. I grin and slap the back of his brown head. "Oi! Watch it, I've still got concussion you idiot." My face falls slightly. Shit. I forgot about that.

"Sorry man. I didn't mean to, I forgot." The crowd of babbling teenagers sweep us up and we get bustled down the down to some brown double doors.

"No worries. Do you know where we are going?" whispers Preston. I shake my head in response. Just follow the crowd.

"Smile and wave boys, just smile and wave," mutters Grant, eliciting a small laugh from me. We enter through the doors into a grand hall with a high ceiling. I inwardly scoff; this place has nothing on the Pentagon. We are directed into a row next to some giggling girls.

No sooner as I sit down a sultry voice sounds, "Well, hello there handsome." I glance at the girl to my left and silently groan at the sight of her. Typical teenage high school girl; dyed blonde hair with so much make up caked on her face you can hardly make out her original features. I shrug her hand off my shoulder, "not interested honey." She sneers at me and whips her hair round leaving a cloud of overwhelming perfume in my face. "Oh God, what did she do? Dump a whole bottle of perfume on her head this morning?" Grant exclaims whilst pinching his nose together.

"Students of Gallagher."

My head whips up to the front of the hall where there is a stage set up. There is a row of chairs against the back wall where every teacher is sat. My eye scans along the faces, committing them to my memory. I see Joe sitting next to a grey haired woman. His face is impassive, his eyes subtly scanning the mass of pupils before him. His eyes lock onto mine and I nod slightly at him, trying to convey that everything is ok. His lips curve upwards in a small smile for a second and then just as it appears, it disappears. I continue down the line of the teachers, ignoring the droning voice of the Headmaster. My eyes latch onto another familiar figure sitting in the teacher's row.

"Sapevate che Abby veniva a scuola con noi?" whispers Preston.

_Did you know that Abby was coming to school with us? _

I look over to Grant, but he's as surprised as we are. Guess Grant didn't know his aunt was coming either.

"No. Ma sembra che ovunque Joe va, così fa Abby"

_No. But it seems like wherever Joe goes, so does Abby. _

I reply back in Italian, I guess we don't let our guard down easily. I smile knowingly at Preston. It's no secret to us that Joe and Abby have a relationship that is far from professional all the time. No one else knows about this in the agency, those only close enough to him or her catch the small inconspicuous glances, the innocent touches, and the unwavering loyalty to each other. It has never been confirmed, but us four always have had our suspicions.

"Learn the skills. Honour the sword. Keep the secrets."

The whole student body chants these words monotonously, their hands clenched in a fist held over their heart in a patriotic fashion. What? As soon as the words finish, rows start filing out of the hall, entering back into the deserted corridor. Guess we missed the motto. We follow the crowd again into the spacious corridor; different to the one we were in before.

"It's like a flipping maze," says Grant, his eyes roving over the endless doors and corridors splitting off.

"Who's got chemistry next?" asks Preston.

"I do." I reply. I like chemistry. I can actually do some of it, surprise surprise. Grant claps me on the back "see you later then."

With that, we walk down opposite ends of the corridor. I take a deep breath as my hand rests on the door handle to the lab. "Che cosa è la scuola ha ottenuto il venire colpiti eh"

_What's school got on being shot at huh? _Preston says hushed. I laugh at this, finding newfound confidence, and push open the door.

Cammie's POV

It's ok. Everything will be ok. I don't have secrets. My life has been an open book ever since my parents died. The authorities have all my details, all my life stories. I'm fine. It's the others I am worried about. We missed assembly. Nobody heard the bell over the shouting and arguing in toilet. I can see why they are so riled up. And now we have the added problem of telling Bex, and she's already stressed about her parents leaving for another mission. There was a good five minutes arguing about who should be the one to tell Bex. I guess I have the honour of doing that. The information in Macey's file could be especially damaging to her and her family. Her father is the American ambassador to France; imagine what blackmail and selling of Macey's information could do to him? France and America's relationship could be ruined if something was leaked and tweaked to look offensive. And Liz! Liz is one of the cleverest teenagers in the world. Someone is bound to take an interest in her. Even the CIA has repeatedly tried to recruit her, but Liz is having none of that, she's determined to live a normal life. I can't help thinking that if you have an IQ of God knows what, you will never be able to live a normal life, but Liz is adamant that no secret organisation snatches her up before she finishes school. Bex. Well, her situation is self-explanatory. I had no idea I had been wringing my hands until a snipe voice cuts into my thought process.

"Nervous or something?" God. Newbie just had to arrive right now didn't he? I glare up at him sharply but can't help but melt slightly at his stupid gorgeous smirk.

"That seat is taken." I keep my voice clipped so that he can't read anything from me. I don't want him to know that I'm angry beyond belief and breaking down with worry.

"Not right now it isn't. Someone has got your panties in a twist since I've last seen you," he replies, seating himself down and dropping his files down on the desk with a loud thud. He looks across at me with a triumphant and amused smile. I glare back before dropping my head into my hands preparing myself for 50 minutes of oncoming torture.

"Oh God." The words were out before I even thought about saying them.

"No," he replied with a smug grin, arching one perfect eyebrow. "But close." I'm breathing heavily and surprised that I haven't slapped him by now.

"Just shut up, I've had my quota of asstards for today." I say my voice muffled by my hands, I don't bother with a please and thank you. It probably wouldn't even register with him. I really don't need a boy who thinks he's God's gift to the world sitting next to me deliberately trying to rile me up.

"Woah, okay. I get it. That time of the month I see." That's it. This is the moment where newbie turned from slightly nice guy to every other ubiquitous jerk I met in high school. God, I don't even know his name and I hate him. Why do all the attractive guys in school have to be jerks? I open my mouth to retort with a snide remark but was stopped as our new teacher saunters into the class. Oh great. Mr Creepy-Ass-Solomon. Just my luck. First lesson is chemistry, which I am terrible at, with a new teacher who looks at me like I'm a target, sitting next to a boy who doesn't know when to shut up.

"What is the chemical test for the positive ion Fe 2?" Mr Solomon walks to stand at the front of the class, his hands clasped behind his back, his body language exerting confidence, leadership and overbearing power. His questioning gaze travels across the class to land right beside me.

"Mr Goode? Do you have an idea?" Surely this teacher knows that we haven't covered chemical analysis yet, of course no one knows anything about this topic. I feel slightly sorry for newbie; he's just been asked an impossible question.

I watch as he lifts his green eyes up to the teacher. "Add sodium hydroxide to the solution of the compounded ion. If a grey green precipitate is formed, then the positive ion is present. If not, then it is not present." My mouth slacks open. I groan inwardly, to add to newbie, he's a chemistry whiz kid. Great.

"Good job Mr Goode." Mr Solomon presents newbie with a small smile and turns to face the blackboard, his chalk creating numerous equations with ions that get lost in my mind.

"Impressed Blondie?" Newbie whispers his husky whisper in my ear sending shivers down my spine. I turn my head away from the blackboard to face him. His face comes too close to mine, but I decide to stand firm.

"Not really. You are probably just a layer of brains wrapped under a coat of muscle and then sexual stupidity". His face morphs into one of mock horror and shock as his hand comes up to his perfectly sculptured mouth. "I'm wounded!" I giggle slightly at his theatrics, earning a few looks at our direction. I sigh and shake my head slightly. I look back up to the board to find it covered with white letters and numbers meshed together to form the most complex web of analysis I have ever seen. I look away for one minute and this guy fills an empty blackboard with dozens of equations.

"Shite," I mutter under my breath. I look across to newbie's book and see it filled with the writing on the board. He's focused on his book, his pen scratching across the page writing down his thoughts and ideas as to solving the ionic equation. I grab my pen and uncap it, popping the end into my mouth from habit as I study his page and start to write down notes from his work.

"Do you mind?" he asks looking down at me. I smile sheepishly, like I've just been caught with my hand in the cookie jar and look down at the desk.

"Sorry," I whisper and look back up at the board in an attempt to understand ionic bonds. My eyes rove over the words and numbers but I can't unravel the meaning. I hate chemistry.

"Struggling?" His voice is getting on my nerves. "It's easy, I'm surprised you haven't got it." His condescending tone is patronizing and infuriatingly annoying. "Maybe you should ask for extra help." I am at the end of my tether.

"You know what newbie? Go to hell." With that I swing my arms back to my side, accidently knocking over the two bottles of sodium hydroxide on our desk. My hands fly to my mouth as I watch the liquid spilling over all our work, the ink on newbie's page blending into a mush of colours.

"I'm so sorry!" I gasp as I run across the lab to get tissues from the wall dispenser. By now, the whole class is watching me as I run back to the desk with a bouquet of tissue paper mopping up the chemical. Newbie copies my actions as we try to clean up our desk. I carry on cleaning until I feel his hand on arm gripping me firmly as if to say, 'stop'. I look up at the lab to see twenty pairs of eyes staring at us in dead silence. I smile back confidently. I have always been one to take embarrassment in my stride. Other people wish that the ground would swallow them whole but I typically make a point to hold my head high. I throw my hands up in a way to say 'oh well' and collapse back into my seat amid giggles and laughter from my classmates. I look at Mr Solomon to see a small smile gracing his features, but his is directed at newbie who's giggling at my antics as well. The lesson restarts and I subtly lean over to newbie, "I hate you, you know." I right myself on my chair. He leans over to me.

"I hate you more Blondie." I laugh.

* * *

><p>We didn't talk much after the incident in chemistry. Newbie allowed me to copy notes off him, since I couldn't understand Mr Solomon's teaching. We worked in mutual silence until the bell rang. I jump out of my seat, eager to leave the Chemistry room and get onto my next lesson, Trig. Now, numbers I can understand. Numbers make sense. It's the only language in the world that can be understood by all, a bit like Esperanto but easier. I walk out of the lab straight into a person. My face collides with their hard chest and all I can think when I collapse to the fall is my god this person is tall, and incredibly muscular.<p>

"Oh God, I'm so sorry! Are you ok?" Great, another boy, please don't let him be insufferable. I open my eyes to look at this guy, who's holding out a hand for me to stand up. Ok, he's polite. Good start. He could have just laughed and ran away. I take his hand and he gently pulls me up. "That's the second time I've seen you fall today," he laughs, a gentle rumbling tone.

"You're in my form class?"

"Yeah, Grant Morgan at your service ma'am." He does a fake bow, his blonde hair flopping in his eyes.

I giggle, "so you're the other Morgan running about these halls then."

"There are two Morgan's here?"

"Yeah. Me. Cammie Morgan at your service sir." I mimic his bow. He laughs and we continue walking down the corridor.

"Interesting, we aren't related by any chance? Long lost cousin or something?"

I try not to let my sadness show as I reply. "Uh. I wouldn't know. Don't know my family." He looks at me curiously, his head cocked to the side as I smile awkwardly at him.

"Grant!" A voice filters down the corridor and makes him turn his head. "I, uh," he pauses. God, this is awkward. "I'll see you around then Cammie."

I smile sweetly back at him, "yeah Morgan, see you around." He winks, turns and then runs full pelt down the corridor, his bag flying out behind him, his arms waving people out the way. I silently laugh at this guy's behaviour. Maybe these new guys aren't all douches. I've met two out of the four. Newbie, whose name I still don't know is, well, I don't know. He was hot and cold during chemistry, being genuinely nice and ok one second and then really pissing the next. I walk into the Trig classroom and smile warmly at the teacher, Mrs Allen. She's lovely. I sit down at my desk and take out my maths file to start doodling in it. I let my black pen swirl over what little blank space there is on the inside of my file and wait for the lesson to start.

"Miss Sutton! Are you alright?" My head snaps up at the mention of Liz. She looks dishevelled, her face is flushed with pink, her hair no longer in its neat bun but tendrils escaping and falling into her face.

"Uh, yes. Mrs Allen, I'm fine. Thank you." She walks down the classroom to sit beside me in the chair.

"Are you ok? You look pretty flustered." I pull the hair away from her face and tuck it back into its normal bun, and rub her shoulders. She's breathing heavily and I can see that tears are swimming in her eyes. 'What happened?"

"Cammie," she whispers. "I've found out who hacked us. And it's bad. I mean, I don't understand why. They would be interested in me, they have expressed their interest in me before, but why all four of us? Have I dragged you into this? I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." She rambles on, muttering under her breath and I can barely make out a word she is saying. My breath hitches and my heart is pounding, but I stay calm. Someone needs to stay calm out of us lot and Liz at the moment isn't doing so hot.

"Ok. Who is it?" Liz tears her gaze away from the front of the classroom to look at me. "CIA."

* * *

><p><strong>AN: A whole load of words here. Thanks for reading! **


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